


Sam Definitely Has a Type

by monday7112



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Prequel, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monday7112/pseuds/monday7112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But not for the reason Dean thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Definitely Has a Type

Dean thinks Sam is always going for brunettes out of subconscious guilt for being alive, for being happy, for being interested in someone else, when Jess is gone. Dean’s maybe right on some deep, buried level Sam doesn’t want to think about too much. But what Dean doesn’t know is that Sam’s had a thing for brunettes since before he met Jessica. Since freshman year, to be precise, when there was a boy, at a party, all brown curls and big blue eyes.

Sam’s only just begun to figure out he might not be exactly straight and he went to the party specifically for that reason. Just to…experiment a little. He got good and drunk before he arrived and, being a Winchester—being the younger brother of Dean Winchester, to be more precise—he can hold his liquor well enough that he has a couple of drinks after he arrives for good measure. Just to make sure he’s tipsy enough that he doesn’t start trying to talk himself out of this. Not too different from the first time he kissed a girl, he reasons with himself. He was too young then to have ever gotten into anything more than the odd half-empty forgotten can of beer left lying around the motel room after John had passed out but even though he kissed his first girl sober, he still had to do it quickly, without thinking, or he would have backed out. Same basic scenario here except that night, his intended target was male and the courage he required was of the liquid variety.

There’s this curly haired brunette with big blue eyes making eye contact with him from underneath his lashes so Sam tips the shot in his hand, mutters what the hell, and covers the distance between the bar and the brunette in a couple of lanky strides. He lost track of what happens after that but not too much later they’re kissing in the corner and Sam is threading his hands through the brunette’s hair, tongue fucking into his mouth like this isn’t his first time. He chases away self-doubt, figures the quiet moaning and the way the boy is pressing himself up against Sam means he’s doing something right and yeah, the places his hands are exploring might be different than if he were kissing a girl but mostly the mechanics are the same and it all feels pretty damn good.

Sam’s friends find him before it goes any further than making out in the corner though and he doesn’t think to get the boy’s number. Sam doesn’t even get his name. It’s loud, they’re both drunk and neither one of them is thinking too hard about social proprietaries like names.  He thinks maybe he’ll see him around campus sometime but he never does. It’s not that surprising. He has a couple of one night stands of the female variety he never sees again, either. It’s a decent size campus and if the boy’s not in the same field of study, Sam wouldn’t expect to see him around, anyway. Still, he checks the lecture halls in the huge survey classes on the first day of each semester. He’s not really sure what’d he say, even if he does find him. Doesn’t even know if he remembers or would be interested in an encore. But he can’t stop himself from searching.

Yeah, Sam’s got a type all right. But it’s not because of Jessica. It’s because Sam can’t forget those baby blues or that mop of brown curls. So when he walks into that motel room after the miracle of getting Dean back from the dead, again, he can’t help the incredulous look that comes across his face or the stupid smile spreading from ear to ear. He stopped looking after he left Stanford and yet, improbably, the boy—now, like Sam, a grown man—is standing in front of him in his motel room, introducing himself as an angel of the Lord.


End file.
